


Frayed Edges

by maeofthedead



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU where they don't forget what happened, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Might be a slight AU from Chapter 2 as well, Trauma, Vomiting, all the other losers are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 21:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeofthedead/pseuds/maeofthedead
Summary: He used to do this every day. When had it become so hard?





	Frayed Edges

They’d left him. 

They had  _ left  _ him. 

Bill had  _ promised  _ they’d stay together and they just left him. 

Stan felt the water pool in the bottom of his shoes as his breathing started to come in short, pained gasps. His knuckles were white as he clutched at his flashlight, swinging it back and forth, trying to catch any movement. 

“Bill?” 

He promised, he promised, he promised. 

“Richie! Eddie!” 

They wouldn’t leave him, would they?

“Ben? Mike?” 

They couldn’t do this, they were supposed to stick together. 

Something grabbed onto Stan’s shoulder, spinning him around and he couldn’t breathe as teeth latched onto the sides of his face and three bright lights blinded him. 

\--

Stan flinched, smacking his elbow against his bed frame as he tried to sit up and untangle himself from the sheets. He couldn’t feel the ends of his fingertips and as he stared at his hands, clenching them into fists, he realized that his vision was blurring around the edges. 

Taking one giant gasp of air, Stan tried to ignore the fact that he sounded like he was dying. He just needed breathe. It couldn’t be that hard. He did it all the time. 

Instead of helping, Stan felt bile push against the back of his throat and he leapt out of bed, beelining it for the bathroom. His muscles were tight as he heaved against the toilet twice before his dinner finally came up. 

He waited for the nauseous feeling to return and when he was able to take three consecutive breaths he sagged in relief against the side of the bathtub, resting his forehead against the cool surface and closed his eyes. 

Tears fell down to the tile below as Stan sniffed a couple times before remembering something Eddie had said during one of his many rants. Something about how when you throw up some of it comes out your nose or whatever. Stan gagged at the thought and grabbed some sheets of toilet paper, blew his nose, and flushed it along with everything else. 

No one came running to see if he was ok and Stan thanked what little luck he had that his parents were out of town. He just...wanted to be alone. 

Maybe he should’ve invited one of his friends over, like his Mom suggested as she and his Dad had been packing clothes and other essentials. Dad had given him no such permission, just reminded Stan that them being out of town did not mean he would get to slack and fall behind on his homework. Stan had promised he wouldn’t and hadn’t really considered on inviting anyone. 

The thing was, he could picture it in his head, how it would all go down. 

Richie would suggest that they throw a big party. Eddie would roll his eyes and ask who they’d even invite. Richie would say something about his mom and how she’d be the ‘life of the party’ or whatever. Ben would quietly suggest that they watch a movie and Bill would immediately agree, Mike would offer to bring some snacks, and Bev would insist that she got to pick what they watched. 

Someone would stay over, maybe all of them and then…

Then they’d wake up to this. 

Stan pushed up off the floor, using one hand to grab the edge of the sink and pulled himself up the rest of the way.Then he started to methodically wash his hands, counting out the seconds in his head, leaning heavily against the sink for stability. 

When Stan finally looked into the mirror, bloodshot eyes reflected back out at him. He reached one hand to scratch at the side of his face, catching dry bits of skin and peeling them away. A nervous habit he’d picked up since...since.

Stan let his hand drop before leaning down to pull out the cleaning supplies from under the sink. 

\--

Stan stared at the ceiling, willing himself to get out of bed, to do anything. There were birds chirping outside, that alone used to be enough to get him moving. Excited by the possibilities, of getting to check another sighting off his list. 

He used to do it every day. When had it become so hard? 

In the end, he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head to block out the light, ignoring the distant bells that signaled the start of school.

\--

The silence did not last, as Stan sat up with a start as someone tried to break through his door through sheer force. 

“Stan! Stan open up!” 

Richie. 

Stan sighed and waited to see if he would tire himself out and assume he wasn’t home. After a solid minute with no such sign, Stan dragged himself out of bed, grabbing one of the blankets to wrap around his shoulders. 

The pounding continued until Stan wrenched the front door open with a little more force than intended or necessary, to see Richie on his front porch with one hand raised. 

Richie let his hand fall to his side and smiled immediately before taking in Stan’s disheveled appearance. His grin faltered a moment before being shoved back into place, a little strained.

“Stan! What’s up?” 

Stan rolled his eyes, one hand pulling the blanket tighter around him, feeling tired already, “You’re the one trying to break into my house, Richie.”

“Well yeah, Bill was worried because you didn’t show up to class and I told him I’d bring you your homework and see what’s going on.” 

Stan knew that he should probably be grateful that his friends cared but all he felt was a stab of irritation through his gut and he frowned. 

“I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“What about a hot one?” Richie waggled his eyebrows and Stan’s frown deepened. Richie finally sighed and threw his hands up, the picture of put upon.

“Ok sure, but you try saying no to Bill’s ‘sad eyes’,” Richie did a decent impression of said eyes, widening them for effect before pushing past him and into the house. Stan ran one hand through his hair and shut the door. “Besides, would you rather have him here going all mother hen? Or Eds listing every single disease you might have?” 

Richie’s voice had started to fade as he got farther away into the kitchen and began going through Stan’s pantry for snacks. Stan had to admit, though not out loud, that Richie coming over was the preferable of all the options available. He was the one most likely to pretend everything was normal. 

Pulling out a chair, Stan sat at the table to watch as his friend searched, “So where’s the rest of the Uris clan, anyway?” 

“Out of town.” 

“What!” Richie turned around abruptly, sneakers squeaking against the tile floor, “And you didn’t invite us? Dammit Staniel we could’ve thrown the best party Derry’s ever seen!” 

Stan mentally gave himself a pat on the back for calling that one. “Absolutely not.” 

“We could’ve gotten the whole gang together!” 

“We see each other every day.” 

“Broken out the alcohol!” 

“We’re thirteen.” 

“Partied all night long!”

“It was a school night.” 

“And maybe you would’ve actually gotten some sleep at some point.” 

“I--” Stan stopped abruptly. He had been running on autopilot, this back and forth normal, comfortable, something he barely had to think about. He’d let his mind wander and his gaze had been drifting out the window. 

Now he snapped back into focus to stare wide-eyed at Richie, who was looking back at him, suddenly solemn. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Richie let that sit for a moment before moving to pull out the chair closest to Stan and settling down in it while he placed a sleeve of saltines and a package of oreos on the table. “It’s ok, you know.”

“What’s ok?” Stan had shifted to look instead at the saltines, shifting in his seat, thinking of all the things that were so far from ok. 

Richie broke open the packet of oreos and held one out to Stan, “To not be ok. It’s ok.” 

Stan looked at the food and then back up at Richie and for the first time since he’d walked through the door, saw the frayed edges of him showing through. Showing in the dark smudges under his eyes and in the way his hand shook. Showing in the small scars along his arms gathered from one horrific and terrible summer. Showing in the weariness that Stan suddenly realized he wasn’t carrying alone. 

Instead of replying, Stan took the oreo.

They ate both packages and it was a poor replacement for an actual meal. Somehow, Stan felt a little better. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in forever wow. My old job was sucking out my soul but now I have a new job and the energy to write again! Huzzah! 
> 
> I may continue this with more of the Losers working out their trauma and learning to take care of each other because I love them dearly. We'll see! 
> 
> (PS: There may be some mistakes in here since it is un-betaed, if anything horrendous sticks out feel free to tell me)


End file.
